


In Good Company

by HenryMars



Series: Commish!! [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, OCs - Freeform, Okay just for the word bullshit that comes up, Rated T for minor swears, commission piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 02:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20038591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMars/pseuds/HenryMars
Summary: An bounty mission takes an unexpected turn.





	In Good Company

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission piece for my friend Kirb. He makes sprites on gaiaonline and sometimes I write little drabbles for him! This was supposed to be like a page or two but um....it got out of hand, and I asked for payment -- very reluctantly bc I felt bad asking him to pay for this -- but he wanted to!! So I can use it to promo my commission stuff!!
> 
> My Usually Inactive Twitter: @marstonland  
My Needs To Be More Active Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/henrymars

_ “Listen, M’rette, it’s not an easy task. Are you sure you want to take on this bounty?” _

_ “I’ll be  _ fine _ , dear brother! It’s just a snake-soul. Nothin’ I can’t handle!” _

The panda-soul known as M’rette stands in front of a menacing cave. Rumor has it that a snake-soul is causing a bit of trouble with the local village: stealing food, switching the cows with the chickens, letting the animals loose. Nothing too harmful...yet, but the pranks had been escalating. This latest prank was pretty bad: one guy woke up on the roof of his barn, somehow. He nearly fell getting down, risking a serious injury. Some owl-soul residents claim to have spotted a slinking purple figure heading towards Lianassa Mountain, where an old cave is said to house an old altar of the God of Song and Growth, Lyric. People used to make offerings to the God, but lately spooky noises and a deep pressuring aura had warded off the most intrepid of villagers.

M’rette wasn’t afraid of a snake-soul. They are wily and mischievous, sure, but they were relatively easy to dispatch. Truthfully, he was only here to scare the troublemaker, but if he killed it, all the better, right? At least the pranks would stop permanently.

Adjusting his coat to accommodate the sudden chill of the cave’s dank interior, the mercenary steps cautiously through the main entrance. He can feel the aura of something powerful for sure, but he convinces himself he’s stronger. He’s been doing things like this since he could pick up a stick; no way was a little aura gonna scare him. The cave narrows further in, and seems to split into a couple paths. The panda-soul didn’t have time for this hide-and-seek maze bullshit; if he got this done quickly, he might be able to barter for better pay.

“Alrighty,” he calls out, and his voice rebounds off the rocky hallway. “C’mon out now! Let’s...chat about the good townsfolk of Hennti Village.” The hand on his katana tightens in preparation.

Nothing, at first. Then, the sound of footsteps echoes down the cave, but M’rette sees nothing. The footsteps grow closer, and just as M’rette wonders if this is an illusion, there is suddenly a great purple figure right in front of him. The blade is out in an instant, but a black-gloved hand grabs the blade and stops the swing just before it strikes the arm.

“Now,” purrs a velvety voice, “is that any way to greet a stranger, little panda?”

The panda-soul looks up at a face darkened by purple-streaked black hair. A charming sharp-toothed grin shines through the shadows across his face. A purple scarf wraps around his neck, but otherwise his chiseled torso is bare. A purple flair wraps around black pants, and a belt adorned with a horned skull from a grithmus. But the most interesting -- and troubling -- is the thick, purple-spiked black tail that twines loosely around the two of them, and the purple and black wings that extend from his back. That oppressive aura is in full-force now as he stares at its source.

“Y-you’re…” M’rette finds it hard to speak, his throat somehow dry.

“Devilishly handsome? Sexy as hell?” The grin widens. “I get that a lot. Or I would, if I received any visitors. But you’re a  _ very _ cute and welcome surprise, little panda.”

“...A dragon-soul…,” he finishes in a voice hushed with awe.

Dragon-souls were thought to be extinct, their scales being sought after for sturdy but light armor and potion-brewing. The furless, otherwise known as humans, were especially keen on getting their hands on dragon-soul scales. They even developed a technique to force the dragon-souls to transform before being slain to maximize their scale-collecting harvest. That M’rette even met one is definitely a once-in-every-lifetime lucky break.

The dragon-soul lets go of the blade and shrugs. “Yes, that too, I suppose,” he admits. “It’s not my most attractive attribute -- but I  _ do _ get high praise for the use of  _ very _ versatile tail.” He waggles his eyebrows as he betrays his dirty mind. “Maybe if we’re both lucky, I’ll get to prove it.”

M’rette snaps out of it. “N-no! I-I’m not here for...whatever it is you wanna do.” He raises his katana again. “I’m here to talk. Or kill, if you don’t comply quietly.”

“Aw, death threats already? Aren’t we moving a little fast, dear panda?”

“Says the one who just admitted to wanting to  _ sleep with me! _ ”

The dragon-soul shrugs again. “Fair.”

He disappears again, only to show up a moment later looming right over M’rette’s shoulder.

“Care to introduce yourself, little panda?” he purrs. “It’s the least you can do after so  _ rudely _ barging into my home.”

M’rette jumps back, keeping his blade trained on the dragon-soul. But something inside compels him to answer.

“...M’rette,” he replies.

“Mur-ret…,” he pronounces slowly. “What a melodious name. That means ‘melody’ too, if I recall my Bearli correctly.”

“...Yeah, it does.”

“A wonderful name, my sweet songbear.” The dragon-soul bows. “I’m Silvetta, which is ‘silver’ in Dragoli. Perhaps you could lower your sword. No need to lower ourselves to battle. Come, I’ll put on some tea. We can have a proper date.”

“Th-this isn’t a date!” The mercenary protests. “I’m just here to talk about your involvement with the pranks you’ve been pullin’ on the villagers! They’re just tryin’ to live their life, dragon! No need to torment them with your childish pranks, especially when your last one nearly  _ killed _ someone!”

Silvetta straightens. “You really  _ are _ a rude little panda, aren’t you?” he remarks. “You’d rather shout at me from my doorstep -- and need I remind, you showed up  _ unannounced _ on said doorstep -- than come inside and talk like a civilized animal over a nice cup of lavender-chamomile. I won’t stand for this, you know; I  _ am _ a dragon with standards. Either come inside for this talk, or leave.” There’s a hardened edge to his voice, as dangerous as the sword blade M’rette wielded. The mercenary considers this for a long moment, then lowers the katana.

“Fine. Fifteen minutes to make your case, dragon. If I don’t like your answer, then you won’t live long enough to be sorry,” he concedes. That grin is back, suave and smug, as if he won a chess match.

“Perfect.”

Silvetta beckons, and the panda-soul has no choice but to follow him down a minor maze of corridors until they enter a surprisingly homely-looking kitchen. A simple but worn rug decorates the floor beneath a table and three chairs that have certainly seen better days. A steady trickle of water falls in a corner of the almost-circular room, the small but only light source in the otherwise dark room. Small hollows in the wall contain miscellaneous kitchen items and food. From a particularly big one, the dragon-soul withdraws an old jade teapot with a surprisingly gingerness. He fills it with water before setting on a shelf-like rock that juts out from the wall. It has a small spit over a pile of sticks, and he hangs the pot on it. He then rifles through his makeshift cabinets and pulls out two teabags, places them inside the pot, then he removes a glove. Suddenly, his hand is alight with a purple fire that he gently touches to the sticks. They catch immediately and simmer in a small bouncy dance. Silvetta places two cups on the table, one on each side, before he leans against the wall beside the heating pot. M’rette opens his mouth to talk, but the dragon-soul, highlighted by the pretty purple flame, holds up a hand.

“No business until the tea is ready,” he tells him. “Go on, don’t be a stranger. Sit down, make yourself at home. How do you take your tea?”

“W-with a cream and a lotta sugar,” the panda-soul finds himself answering, doing as he is told. Silvetta smiles.

“I find that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they take their tea -- or coffee.”

“I’m...actually more of a coffee person,” M’rette says.

“I suspected as much. Sadly, I only have tea, as coffee tends to make me...unnecessarily high-maintenance. But the next time you grace me with your presence--” he winks “--I’ll be sure to have some ready for you.”

M’rette glares. “What makes you so certain there will be a next time?” he asks coldly.

“I have a great intuition.”

Silence cloaks them for a moment, but eventually M’rette sighs loudly.

“Fine, I give,” he says, sounding exasperated. “What does my tea say about me?”

“So glad you ask, my lovely melody. The single cream indicates that you’re a little mellow at heart. You prefer the simpler things over the complex -- though I must say, taking such a rich pride in your appearance is a welcome surprise.” His gaze is tangible as it scans over M’rette’s light-brown hair, cream-and-chocolate colored feathered overcoat that covered his own bare chest, and white hakama tucked into matching brown traditional boots. “I’ve never known badass and cute to cross, but I must say: you wear it well.”

“You always sweet-talk and try to get in the pants with every merc who wants to kill you?” the panda-soul snaps.

“Only the cute ones, which are  _ very _ few and far between. I’ve had nary a visitor that didn’t run in terror not three steps through the entrance of my abode.” There’s a flash of an expression on Silvetta’s confident face. It’s reverts back to that easy, cocky smile before the mercenary could get a proper look, but he could guess what it means all the same.

_ Loneliness _ . He’s lonely.

M’rette feels a stab of pity for the dragon-soul, but shakes it off. Who cares? He’s here for one reason only: get him to stop with his dangerous pranking, by any means necessary.

“If I may continue,” Silvetta resumes saying, “the desire for plenty of sugar indicates not only a sweet-tooth, but a sweet nature, too. You’re kind, compassionate, even. You stand for what you believe in, especially for those you care about. Though...you mentioned you are a mercenary? Hm...surprising me once again. That’s good. I like surprises.” His smile widens. M’rette blinks.

“You get all that...from just a cup of tea?” he asks, a little disbelieving.

“Yes, though you said you prefer coffee. That’s shows drive, determination, while tea is more relaxing and laid-back. Do you take your coffee the same way?”

“...Yeah.”

“Then everything else about you makes so much more sense.”

The teapot shrieks as steam hisses from the spout.

“Ah, marvellous.” He takes the pot off the fire without even flinching at the heat and pours the tea first in M’rette’s cup, then his own. Setting the pot to the side, Silvetta puts out the flame and instead pulls out a candle, lighting that and placing it in the center of the table. He then rifles through the wall cubbies until he pulls out the cream and sugar. He takes the liberty of pouring the cream and sugar inside himself, then provides a wood-carved spoon for him to stir it with. M’rette watches this intently.

“You’re...odd,” he says as Silvetta takes his seat across from him. “Nothin’ like I expected.”

“You shouldn’t expect to know a person before even meeting them. I’m full of surprises, too.” Silvetta takes a sip of his surely-still-boiling tea. He only put in two sugar cubes into it. Completely blanking for a bit about why he was here, M’rette asks curiously, “What does your tea say about you?”

“Curious about me, dear M’rette?” His smile impossibly gets wider. “I thought you hated me.”

“D-don’t look into empty chests,” the panda-soul sputters, feeling his face heat under the dancing purple candlelight. “I-I’m just wondering, is all.” The dragon-soul chuckles.

“I take my tea with two sugars. Or black, depending on the mood I’m in. Taking it black means I’m also a fan of a simpler way of life. The simplest, even. For proof, look at my accommodations.” He gestures around to the little kitchen. “It’s hardly a real kitchen. Just the bare minimum I need to get by. Also, I don’t have a proper house, and I can’t exactly make frequent trips to the village, so I have to live very humbly.” He continues. “When I take my tea with sugar, it shows that I also have a sweeter side, though it seldom shows, much like you can barely taste the sugar in the tea. My tendency to change things up with my tea represents a mischievous demeanor, a little unpredictable. I guess a wild streak, as you may call it, though it’s nowhere near as capricious and wild as those who drink their tea differently with each day of the week. That also represents indecisiveness. I’m not saying steer clear of those people entirely -- that’d be rude of me -- but they’re not the most...reliable of people.”

Surprisingly, it makes sense. M’rette finds himself nodding along thoughtfully. It’s interesting. It’s like astrology; it’s barely relevant or even accurate, but it makes for good and intriguing conversation.

Oddly, it’s Silvetta who brings it up. M’rette had nearly forgotten why he is here in the first place, caught up in the casual and admittingly fascinating conversation with the dragon-soul.

“Now, you’re not here for the tea talk and good company, unfortunately,” he begins. “I believe you have business to discuss with me?”

M’rette turns pink again.  _ Right. Whoops. _

“Y-yeah. It’s about Hennti Village and all the pranks you’ve been pulling,” he states. “You’re causing a lot of trouble for them, and your last one nearly ended in a fatality! Seriously! He almost rolled off the roof!”

Silvetta unsurprisingly laughs. “Ah, yes, maybe I took that one too far,” he admits. “But to be fair, he  _ is _ a bird-soul. He could have flown.”

“Only  _ if _ he was awake enough to catch himself before plummeting to certain death!”

“True. My apologies.” He takes another drink of his tea. “That won’t happen again. I vow so, and I never break my vows.”

“What about the other pranks?” M’rette inquires. “Are you going to stop those?”

“I indicate to my mischievous streak that I pointed out earlier,” the dragon-soul replies. “I’m afraid as composed as I appear to others in my rare company, I have a bit of an impulse control when on my lonesome. I grow bored, being here all by myself. Messing--” he chuckles “--messing with the villagers brings me a sort of alleviation from the boredom. I can’t help it.”

“Well, you need to  _ vow _ to stop,” M’rette presses. “It’s not funny. Their trades are being seriously impacted by your foolin’ around!”

“Really, now? How so?” Silvetta takes another drink of his tea. The brunet takes a drink of the tea as well. It’s thankfully cool enough not to scald his tongue.

“Well, for starters, takin’ their crops doesn’t help them any,” the panda-soul points out. “And messin’ with the livestock has consequences on the animals. It confuses them, and confusion leads to unsteady results. Not to mention nobody can bring their offerings to Lyric; your presence scares them. And the general store owner has OCD, and when she comes in to her wares out of order, she can’t open until everything is in its proper place. When this happens, she don’t open til well into the afternoon, and she has to close at sundown because she has problems seein’ in the dark as a furless.”

Silvetta flinches at “furless”, but quickly composes himself.

“I’m sorry to hear, but they  _ are _ quite funny when they wander around like lost ants. And as for the crops...well, I have to eat too, and I can’t exactly wander into town and pay for things when I’m invisible.” His smile vanishes, looking somber. It’s an odd and unfamiliar look on his face. “That...tends to cause panic. Fear of the unknown and all, especially an unseen unknown. And I can only manage to craft a glamour potion about once a month, when I can pick the lilies in the full moon’s light and find the mushrooms that absorb the silver light to turn gold. ...Heh, I wonder if they’d recognize me in this form. I don’t look much different, just my wings and tail are hidden. Maybe...they’d just be scared.” He takes a sip of his tea to disguise the mourn in his voice. “But I digress. I’m not sure if I can uphold that last vow, because again. Even dragon-souls need to eat and be entertained.”

That pity is back again, a pang to M’rette’s heart. It must be an  _ awful _ and lonely existence, to remain in constant hiding like this; to never really get out and socialize, to only be able to wander at night, never feeling the warmth of the sun’s rays on his skin, his tail and wings.

“...Well, I’m sure we can work somethin’ out,” he begins slowly. “Like, say, someone gets you food and tools for you, maybe even a deck of cards--”

“I actually have quite a few decks,” Silvetta interrupts, “but there’s only so many rounds of Solitaire one can play and so many card houses before one grows tired of staring at the ace of hearts.”

“--well, maybe someone could come up and keep you comp’ny. Provide some good conversation. Someone who...who knows your secret, so you don’t hae to put on a glamour once a month,” the mercenary adds with a blush. Silvetta’s lips curl up in a smile.

“Do you, perhaps, have someone in mind?” he asks.

“Yeah,” M’rette replies. He finds himself smiling back.

“I look forward to seeing more of you then, my sweet melody.”

Now he goes from pink to red. “Y-you too, silver--Silvetta.”

“Then I vow not to play any pranks on the villagers of Hennti Village, provided you, of course, keep up your end of the bargain.”

“I vow to keep you company. And maybe someday, we can introduce you to the rest of the town. Prove you’re not such a bad guy. Maybe even have you move into the village. And I promise, the furless won’t hurt you. Not while I’m around. Plus, she’s a sweetheart,” the panda-soul added. “She makes the best cookies.”

“I hope you bring me some. Cookies and tea -- and coffee too -- go hand in hand.”

“Surely so.”

The rest of the day passes in pleasant, even welcome, conversation. M’rette discovers how nice Silvetta’s laugh is; a full-bodied rumble that lets one know he really is entertained. Dragon-souls live a long time, too, and Silvetta had no shortage of stories for the mercenary. The evening creeps up on them both, and eventually M’rette has to leave. The two linger in the doorway, and the panda-soul almost doesn’t want to leave. He searches for something else to say, some reason to stay a little in the alluring and engaging presence that is Silvetta. He barely notices that pressing aura now; it’s friendly, even. Welcoming, like all it needed to stop being so heavy is a friend.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Silvetta asks, and M’rette thinks he even looks shy.

“If I don’t have work, then yes, I shall definitely be over. And I’ll bring coffee and fruit; the apple crop is plentiful this time of year.”

“My favorite.”

They bade each other farewell. M’rette smiles all the way home, because there’s a tickling feeling in his chest that buzzes at the thought of seeing him again.


End file.
